She is More Than Anyone Else
by Lionheart Rising
Summary: He knows she was made for greater things than spring. Even if she doesn't. A Hades/Persephone AU with a Pydia twist. Small amounts of Allisaac (through mentions) and some Allison/Lydia friendship.


Somehow, Lydia has never felt completely at ease in her life. There is always someone to impress, always something that she needs to hide, and so she has never been able to rest easily.

An important thing to remember about Lydia is that she didn't really intend to fall in love with the Underworld. She meant to rejoice fully in the six months she got to spend away from the man/deity/creature that she had somehow gained as her husband, but as the years pass, the Underworld becomes more her home than the above-world. And that confuses her.

He abducts her on an overcast day, on what now counts as the first day of winter. (Which is kind of interesting, from Lydia's standpoint.) He's everything she expected of the god of the dead, and yet completely different. These are the facts:

1\. Hades refers to himself as Peter.  
2\. He's the most manipulative person she's ever met.  
3\. He never does anything unless it benefits him in some way.  
4\. For some reason, he thinks that the goddess of springtime will be a good fit in the Underworld.

Lydia doesn't know why she's suddenly important, but she doesn't think she likes it.

Lydia expects Peter to frighten her, and he does. She expects him to be cruel, and he can be. She expects him to be cutting, and he is. She expects him to take her without her permission, to force himself on her as is the fate of far too many women, but he doesn't.

Admittedly, he's got a few issues with boundaries – namely that he likes to push hers – but he never touches her in any overtly erogenous zones. He limits himself to her face and her hair, her neck and her arms. He'll place kisses on her wrists, smirking at her when she stiffens and tries to wrench herself out of his grip.

In the weirdest way possible, he treats her like she's his queen: he'll often defer to her in small matters, and he's given her control over certain aspects of the Underworld. Lydia doesn't know that she likes this, because it means that he really thinks he can keep her: that she'll stay here forever.

But Lydia's smart, smarter than anyone ever gives her credit for, and she'll be damned if she doesn't find a way out of here.

She starts with trying to get out the same way all the mortal souls get in, but Charon the ferryman – or Cora the ferrywoman, rather – just laughs and sends her back to the palace. When she walks by the three-headed dog, it growls at her menacingly, but by that point Lydia's had it up to here with the Underworld, so when she snarls back Cerberus must sense that he shouldn't mess with her and instead just looks cowed.

At supper, where she obviously doesn't eat anything because this is most certainly not a permanent stay, Peter teases her for her efforts and tries to tempt her with delicacies that even she has never had before. It doesn't work, and she just drinks water, lips pressed together in silent rebellion at his attempts to draw her into conversation. By the end Peter does seem disgruntled, though he appears to get his revenge when he kisses both of her palms and tucks a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, not bothering to hide his glee when she glares at him.

She sleeps fitfully that night, dreams of the above-world and her friends being interrupted by images of Peter in her bed that leave her wet and wanting. When she wakes up frustrated and alone, she curses Peter's name. It doesn't make her feel better, though the fingers she uses to bring herself to climax do. She thinks she dislikes him even more after that. Especially since he almost seems like he knows what she did. When he kisses her fingers as a good morning, the dark look in his eyes is positively wicked.

To put all that out of her mind, Lydia tries getting out a different way, though she ends up in the Fields of Asphodel instead. She finds their vacant stares and neutrality weirdly off-putting, and she wanders through the crowds with a sour look on her face.

When she reaches the edge of the crowd, Peter is waiting, his arms crossed. Just like everyone around her, his expression is neither good nor bad, though the corner of his mouth quirks up when he sees her. She's the only spot of color in the area, from the bland gray and washed out colors of the fields to the black of Peter's garb and the brown of his hair, and Lydia knows she stands out.

"I see you've been making the rounds," he says, offering her his arm. Sighing, Lydia places her hand on his elbow.

"They're so… neutral. There's no passion, no joy, not even sadness. They just… are."

"It's a marvelous place when you just need somewhere to think," Peter quips, and Lydia rolls her eyes, but does not say anything else. Nor does she let go.

That night at supper, though she still doesn't eat, she asks him questions and actually carries on a conversation. She studiously ignores his triumphant expression while it happens.

The next day, Lydia visits the Fields of Punishment and hears the screams of those who are suffering for whatever wrongs they did while they lived. She doesn't like it, but she can also appreciate why they are there; after all, there are no mistakes made in the Underworld. As with the Fields of Asphodel, Peter is there to escort her back to the palace when she's finished, and this time he does not try to engage her in conversation, apparently sensing that she's thinking.

The day after takes Lydia to Elysium, and the day after that to the Isles of the Blessed. Both of these are exciting, filled with all the things the Fields of Asphodel and the Fields of Punishment are not, and Lydia enjoys herself immensely.

She still leaves with Peter when he comes for her.

She's been in the Underworld for a full mortal year when Isaac, messenger of the gods, comes. Lydia knows it's not just a social call. While she and Isaac are not necessarily good friends, Lydia is close with Allison, who presides over wisdom and war, and lately Allison and Isaac have been something of a package deal. As such, Lydia welcomes him gladly.

"How has it been?" she asks, bluntly enough. Isaac huffs out a sigh, ruffling his blond curls.

"Well, your mother hasn't exactly been jumping for joy. Or, you know, been allowing the mortals to actually grow food."

"Yes, we have noticed an increase in starvation related deaths," Lydia notes, thinking of the emaciated bodies of men and women of all ages wandering around the Fields of Asphodel. Though they're thin, they don't feel like they're starving anymore, and Lydia counts that as a small victory. Even if they are dead.

"We?" Isaac asks, eyebrow raised. Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Yes, we. I'm not here alone, am I?"

"I hadn't thought so, but you also don't seem in bad shape, so I'm not entirely sure what's up with that."

"Peter doesn't mistreat me," Lydia said placidly. "He just… won't let me leave. Which logically, I know really counts as mistreating me, but it's hard to feel that way when he's not outright rude to me."

"Are you… happy?" Isaac asks tentatively. "Allison wanted me to ask, because if you're not the she says god of the dead be damned, she'll come down here and kick his ass."

Lydia smiles at the mention of her best friend. "I'd be terrified, if I were him."

"Everyone with sense is," Isaac says, sounding fond. "Jackson nearly cried the last time she threatened him."

"Well, it's Jackson," Lydia points out. "Just because he inspires terror in others does not mean he's immune to it."

"That's exactly what Scott said," Isaac replies. "So, is there any chance you can convince Hades to let you go? It's kind of a downer for the rest of us when all of our worshippers are dying of starvation."

"So tactful," Lydia says, rolling her eyes. "I can try, but I might need backup."

"I'm just the messenger," Isaac says.

"Yes, and I need you to give him the message," Lydia says impatiently. "If I'm going to manipulate him, I need all the advantages I can get."

She's not wrong, either. When Isaac gives the message to Peter, she's impressed that Peter limits himself to glowering angrily, though Isaac still flinches. She pretends to be just as surprised by the news as he is; it's all part of her plan, after all. Isaac is dismissed, leaving Lydia alone with Peter.

"You are not going," he snaps, not even looking at Lydia. She can sense that he's focusing so hard on staring at the floor so he won't glare at her, and that plays even more into her hand.

"Do you expect me to sit idly by while the mortals starve when I can prevent it?" she asks. Now he does turn to her, so many different emotions warring in his eyes.

"I said you're not going."

"And I'm saying that if I don't, the Fields of Asphodel and Punishment and Elysium and the Blessed will be filled beyond capacity."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Peter says, and she knows he's trying to goad her.

"Think, Peter," she says. "When there is no one left alive, how then will any of us do as we are supposed to? We are as dependent on the mortals as they are on us."

"You think I care?" Peter snaps. "I have their power when they are with me, and it does not matter if a hundred or a million die, because I just keep getting stronger."

"Fine then," Lydia said. "Let them die. Let everyone and everything die."

"You know, another solution would be for Demeter to stop throwing a hissy fit," Peter points out.

"Yes, but my mother is not about to leave her only daughter to rot – her view – in the Underworld, and sometimes she doesn't exactly think logically."

"You know, you're not making a very good case here, Lydia," Peter says.

"Then how about this," Lydia says. "I will stay here-" Peter perks up visibly, smirking at her. "For three months out of the year," she finishes, and Peter is back to glowering.

"No," he refuses right out, and Lydia feigns a sigh. She'd known he'd never agree to something so small, but she had to start somewhere. "You think to tempt me with so little, my dearest Lydia? I already have you here; you'll have to work a lot harder than that."

"Six months?" Lydia tries next, and once more Peter scoffs.

"Six months is not nearly enough of your fire, sweetheart," Peter says, eyes crinkling.

"Eight months?" Lydia tries next, thinking that he will take this deal. Hopefully the remaining time will be enough for the mortals to feed themselves.

"Still not enough," Peter says, arms crossed.

Lydia swallows, the reality of her situation sinking more fully into her bones. She thinks of all the times he's kissed her hands or her wrists, all the times he's fingered her hair, the careless swipes of his thumb along her cheekbone. He desires her. This she knew already; Lydia is nothing if not intelligent. But, if she's not mistaken, he more than desires her. And so she knows what she must do.

"I will stay with you for six months of the year," she begins slowly, holding up one finger when he makes to cut her off in protest, "As your queen. I will stay by your side, eat at your table, and lie in your bed. I will give myself willingly and fully to you, and I will be your lady."

They are the hardest words she has ever said in her life, but she holds her head high as his eyes widen in abject shock. The throne room is dead silent for a long moment, and she is almost afraid he will reject her deal. What more can she offer him that will result in satisfaction for both sides of the disagreement she is torn between?

She needn't have worried.

"Deal," Peter says, his lips curving up into a smile. He stands and reaches over, seizing her about the waist. She has half a second to process what's happening before his mouth is sealed over hers.

She's so busy trying to keep up with him that she doesn't even notice they're no longer standing in his throne room. He pulls away from her lips in order to kiss and nip at her neck, and she takes the opportunity to look around. They're in a lowly lit room decorated in what Lydia can only describe as a masculine way, with dark woods and rich fabrics. It is not over-decorated, as Lydia would have expected from a god as wealthy as Peter, but neither is it barren. There is an air of opulence to it, and Lydia knows immediately that they're in his bedroom.

"You are as clever as I expected you to be," Peter says in between kisses. He nips lightly at the skin behind her ear and Lydia gasps, not expecting the surge of pleasure that rushes through her. She can feel his smirk against her skin, and he drags his teeth along her jaw.

"Wh-what?" Lydia manages to say, and Peter pulls away.

"I didn't choose you only because you're gorgeous," he tells her, looking slightly affronted that she would think him so shallow. "Lydia, Lady Persephone, is far more intelligent than most people realize, and more powerful than I could have hoped. You walked through all of the fields, and you did not falter. Your mere presence is enough to bring the needed element of life to the Underworld. Or did you not see the deference everything here shows you?"

He doesn't give her time to speak, instead choosing to occupy her mouth with his own once more. His hands move up to cup her breasts, and Lydia almost thinks that if this is what him claiming her is like, she doesn't know why she didn't go for it sooner.

Peter grows impatient with her dress and tears it from her shoulders, ignoring her yelp of protest. He takes her in with greedy eyes, and Lydia strives not to be too bashful, but then he's picking her up and tossing her onto his bed before following after her. He noses along her belly, her collarbones, the curve of her breasts, leaving trails of kisses in his wake that have her biting her lip to keep from making a sound.

"That won't do, Lydia," he growls before shifting his full attention to her full breasts, leaving her writhing beneath him. There's a heat pooling between her thighs, and apparently Peter knows because he slides down her body, kissing the insides of her thighs before he-

"Oh!" she exclaims at the first swipe of his tongue, moaning loudly when he does it again and again until she's a quivering mess beneath him.

And he's not finished with her either, because after she comes once more by his fingers, he stands, licking them clean as he disrobes. In all her time in the Underworld, Lydia would never admit to anyone, even herself, that she has noticed the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles of his arms. Naked, he is even more glorious, and her eyes go wide as she lies there panting. He just curves his lips into a slow smile, returning to the bed so he can kiss her and she moans at the feeling of his skin pressed against hers so intimately. She feels him nudging at her entrance, and at his unspoken query spreads her legs wider, allowing him to enter her slowly, biting her lip at the pleasure-pain of it, of being stretched and feeling full.

She's still adjusting when he begins moving, and she moans, throwing her head back. Peter uses the opportunity to suck on her neck as he thrusts into her. Lydia doesn't have much of a choice but to wrap her legs around him, and she smirks when she hears him growl. Her smirk is lost to a moan when he moves his hand down to stroke the bundle of nerves between her thighs.

With everything that their relationship is, it doesn't really surprise Lydia that being bedded by Peter is half love-making, half fighting. He uses his teeth on her collarbone; Lydia digs her nails into his shoulders. Peter thrusts into her in a way that makes her see stars; she cants her hips up to meet his. When she comes again it is with a scream, and this time Peter follows behind her with a loud, full groan.

Afterwards, Lydia always remembers that she was made queen of the Underworld not after an extravagant wedding, or through some fancy ceremony, but by shattering beneath the skilled ministrations of the god of the dead.

Lydia leaves with Isaac the next day. She knows he can see the dark bruise-like mark on her neck, but he doesn't say anything about it, for which Lydia is grateful. It's bad enough that Peter kisses her full on the mouth in Isaac's sight before letting her go, smiling victoriously.

"See you in six months, my lady queen," he says, and Lydia inclines her head at him, playing along.

"As we agreed, my lord," she replies, managing a falsely sweet smile. She and Isaac leave the throne room to the sounds of Peter's laugh.

"So, you… uh, worked something out?" Isaac stammers as he leads her out of the Underworld.

"You could say that," Lydia says. Isaac looks as though he wants to ask more questions, but instead he just sighs.

"Allison will be glad to see you again, as will everyone else."

Their talk turns to the rest of the Olympians, and Lydia pretends that what she's feeling is triumph the further away she gets from Peter.

In the end, she blames it on a pomegranate. As if she was foolish enough to be tricked by Peter and some stupid fruit. Still, the excuse goes over well with most people. 'Most people' does not include Isaac, who obviously knows most of the story, and Allison. Allison knows Lydia better than Lydia thinks she knows herself, so obviously she has to tell her best friend the truth.

They're lying in a field and Lydia is amusing herself by making flowers grow. She didn't do it much in the Underworld, as it never felt right, but now she wishes she had.

"What happened, Lydia?" Allison asks her kindly, brown curls moving gently in the breeze. "I mean, what really happened, because I don't believe for a second your story about the pomegranate."

"I made a deal," Lydia says simply. "He would never have let me go unless it benefitted him in some way. So I gave him what he wanted."

"And he wanted you," Allison says slowly, realization dawning.

"Precisely," Lydia says, making a fist. The flower she was growing suddenly wilts and dies.

"Do you want me- I could- damn it all, Lydia, surely there's something I can do!" Allison exclaims. Lydia just smiles.

"I made my deal, Allison, and I am… content with it."

"If you're sure," Allison says doubtfully, but she accepts Lydia's decision. And that is what makes Lydia love Allison the most: Allison doesn't seek to change Lydia's mind, just lets her know that if something goes wrong she will have her back.

"I am, Allison," Lydia assures her. "Thank you, though. Now, enough about me; tell me how you've been."

Finally moved onto another topic, Lydia absentmindedly begins growing another flower, hardly noticing its black and white petals.

Beneath the earth, Peter smiles.

Lydia's six months in the above-world pass by quickly, and though she'd never admit it to anyone, she is almost relieved to return to the Underworld. Even on Olympus she can hear the quiet, emotionless voices of the people in the Fields of Asphodel, the screams of those in the Fields of Punishment, and the rejoicing of those in Elysium. At least in the Underworld she knows that she can walk among them.

She's also tired of her mother's babying and of the kid gloves everyone is treating her with. Isaac knows the truth, and he's just as biting as ever. Allison does now too, and her best friend would never deign to treat her as though she were unable to handle herself. A few others inherently get it, like Scott who is unfailingly kind to everyone. But overall, everyone pities her, and above anything else she hates their pity.

When the six months are up, Lydia makes her farewells – a luxury she didn't have the last time she left. She hugs Allison tightly, her best friend telling her that if anything goes wrong to just call for Isaac and Allison will use all of the wisdom and battle-knowledge she possesses to save her. Lydia just laughs.

"I can handle the god of the Underworld," Lydia says, and she's surprised by how true the words are. "Besides, he'd never hurt me."

The Underworld is unchanged when she returns, and Lydia tries to ignore how right it feels when she and Isaac slip beneath the earth. He takes her as far as the outer edges of the main palace before Lydia stops him.

"I can go the rest of the way myself," she tells him. Isaac looks off ahead dubiously.

"You're sure?" he asks, and Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" she mutters, which makes Isaac smirk. "Yes, I am sure. I'll see you… sometime later," she decides on saying, since Isaac could potentially visit periodically, if only to fulfill his duties.

"Goodbye, Lydia," Isaac says, and then he is gone. Lydia takes a deep breath and starts toward the palace.

Her path takes her through the gardens, and she can't help smiling when she sees the pomegranate tree growing just outside the palace.

She enters the palace of stone without any hesitation, walking through the winding hallways that she mapped so clearly during her previous stay. The stone seems to thrum with an unseen energy the closer she gets to the throne room, and Lydia is actually feeling excited, dare she say it.

The double doors to the throne room both open as she approaches, letting her see Peter lounging on his throne. None of the minor gods or demons are present; it is just the two of them. Peter smiles slowly as she gets closer to him.

"I'm back," she states, unnecessary as it is.

"So I see," Peter replies, standing. He walks towards her slowly, and Lydia stands still, chin up. Peter stops in front of her, looking down at her for all of five seconds before kissing her like a dying man desperate for air.

And Lydia likes it. Loves it, even. She reaches her hands up, tangling her fingers in Peter's short brown hair. His hands fall down to cup her ass and he uses that positioning to hoist her up, prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist. The room fades away around them, and when Lydia looks around again they're in his room.

He takes her up against the wall, and half of Lydia's euphoria comes from the sheer feeling of being joined once again. He grips her thighs tightly, most likely leaving fingerprint bruises behind, and Lydia loves it. He bites her shoulder when he spends himself inside her, and for some reason this kick-starts Lydia's own climax. Afterward he rests his head on her shoulder as they both catch their breath.

"Did you miss me?" he asks, and though she can't see his face, she can hear his smug tone.

"I suppose I've missed certain parts of you," Lydia says noncommittally.

"Fair enough," Peter says, just as he thrusts his hips into hers again, forcing Lydia to choke back a moan. "But we will be working on making that a 'yes'."

At some point, they move to the bed, and Lydia falls asleep in his arms when they finish once more. As she drifts off, she can feel him playing with her hair, and hear him saying that he never wants to let her go. And she would never tell anyone, except Allison, but it feels immeasurably good to be wanted.

Surprising as it is, Lydia's six months in the Underworld pass by even more quickly than her six in the above-world. She spends her days helping Peter rule, and her nights with Peter in bed. He is an attentive lover, and Lydia has never been shy about saying what she wants, and so she can only be glad that no one else's rooms are near theirs.

When the time comes for her to leave again, she is actually reluctant. The night before her departure, Peter says that he loves her, holding her close to his side. Lydia has to swallow past the lump in her throat, and the next day before she leaves she says that she loves him too.

The above-world no longer feels so much like home. To be fair, she still has Allison, still has the rest of her friends, but she's something different now, something more. Something none of them fully understand, and she's not sure she wants them to either. She's also something darker, even if she's still the goddess of springtime.

But so her life goes: half above, half below. She is Persephone, goddess of spring, queen of the Underworld, lady of Hades. She is Lydia, and she rules alongside her husband.

Above all, she finds that she is content.

 **Author's Note: Any similarities this fic has to others is coincidental; I read a lot of fanfiction. This is also one of my first times writing smut, so hopefully it turned out decently. Peter and Lydia are Hades and Persephone, respectively, while Allison is Athena and Isaac is Hermes. In case anyone was wondering, I've cast Jackson as Deimos, the god of terror. Please review, fave, all that jazz.**


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